


Opposition Position

by harcourt



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Captivity, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, I wrote this for the kinkmeme, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 16:58:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15912465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harcourt/pseuds/harcourt
Summary: Forthiskinkmeme prompt, where,Bitty and Parse get fuck'or'died. Only, they can't agree on which to choose.It's stupid for Parse to choose death for them both over fucking Bitty, like it'sthatbig an imposition. Who does he think he is? It's not like Bitty wants to fuckhim, either. Or like Parse is hot or anything. There's no reason at all for 'hell no' to escalate into pointed, contrarian fucking, I'll show you, Kent Parson.





	Opposition Position

"I don't know," Parse says, sitting on the floor and leaning back on his arms. "I'm thinking maybe death."

"What do you mean you're thinking _maybe death_? You can't think death! This is your fault!"

Parse hadn't been looking at him, but he does now, turning his head just enough to give Bitty a flat, yet pissy look, out of the corner of his eye like Bitty's not worth fully turning his head for. " _My_ fault?" 

"You're the one with fans," Bitty points out. Parse probably has crazy fans. Misery-style. This, in fact, is proof of it. Parse doesn't seem impressed.

"Jack has fans," he says. "Maybe one of them wants to do away with you."

"Well, I--"

"And _you_ ," Parse interrupts, "have fans on the _internet_." He shuts up, but only long enough to leave a meaningful silence, and then concludes, "I'm not fucking you for the internet."

"I don't want to fuck you for the internet either," Bitty snaps. Then adds, "It's a _cooking_ vlog."

Parse huffs derisively. "Then maybe you _should_ fuck me for the internet. Put something up worth looking at."

Bitty copies his scornful noise. "I do just fine, I'll have you know."

"You don't even do as well as my cat."

That's true, but only because Parse's cat is ridiculously popular. Bitty doesn't acknowledge it. Or ask why Parse knows how many followers he has to compare in the first place. Parse can do whatever he likes with his time, it's not Bitty's problem if he's busy stalking Jack and Jack's people. It's a bit creepy, is all. Maybe medium level pathetic.

"I don't need a pity fuck from a guy who runs a cat Instagram, thank you very much," Bitty sniffs. Parse actually looks surprised, before he looks affronted.

"Well, that's not _all_ I do," he says, pointed and cocky, probably alluding to his accolades and fame, then huffily adds, "I was just offering to keep us alive, but never mind." There's a petulant _if you're going to be like that_ underneath it. Parse is so childish. "I was leaning towards 'I'd rather drop dead' anyway."

"Oh, _you_ were leaning towards that, were you?" 

Parse gives him another one of those sideways, considering looks, expression flat and eyes a lightish corkboard brown, picking up the faded wallpaper plastering the windowless room. It's yellowed, but tidy, with dusty little roses marching up and down in columns, delicate and dated and also clearly lining the walls of a basement. There's a damp stain climbing up from the baseboard in a way that means cold concrete right under the scuffed wood flooring. There's probably mold everywhere, behind and beneath it all.

"Definitely yup," Parse confirms, in a decisive tone, like it's so obvious he can't believe he'd let Bitty make him question it.

"Good," Bitty says, sitting down and crossing his legs and then his arms, back straight, unlike Parse's slouchy sprawl. "Then we're in agreement and can just die here together."

Parse snorts. "Fat chance. I'm not dying with you."

"Well I'm not fucking you, so I don't see how you have a choice, Kent Parson."

Parse tips his head back, examining the ceiling instead of responding. There's a kitschy, ugly shade over the yellow bulb. Faux stained glass with vines and grapes like something to be got rid of in a yard sale, ASAP. There's no light switch in the room, which Bitty's tried not to think about. He wonders if Parse is worried about being stuck in the dark too. "You're such a priss," Parse says at last, like he's resigned to the fact that his death will be down to Bitty being a prude.

"I am _not_ ," Bitty snaps. "You don't even know me."

Parse's gaze slides back to him, then he snorts and looks back at the ugly ceiling lamp. _Sure I do_ , Bitty reads in it. Maybe, _I know enough_ , or, _You're more obvious than you think_.

"Well, I'm not," Bitty repeats, even though Parse hadn't offered any argument. 

Parse shrugs, in a humoring, unconvinced way. He's infuriating.

"Do you want me show you, or something?"

That gets him another look, with a raised eyebrow this time. He's so obnoxious, in that way that good looking, sporty boys are. Confident and patronizing and above everything. Bitty gives him his best cool, indifferent look. It helps that Parse is leaning back like he is, because it gives Bitty the height he needs to look right down his nose with proud contempt.

"Like you have anything to show," Parse says, then laughs. Not even like he's trying to be mean, but just like the thought is genuinely funny. 

Bitty rolls his eyes and gets up to walk over to where Parse is, and nudges him with a foot. "Well, lean back Mr. Parson. You think you're so smart."

Parse is already leaning back, but he doesn't make a snotty remark about it, and just drops further, to his elbows instead of just back on locked arms. His expression's shifted to curious, but Bitty can't tell if it's because he wants to know if Bitty can put his money where his mouth is--or his mouth where his talk is--or if he's not sure where Bitty is going with this and is just waiting to see. If that's the case, then he's denser than Bitty had expected.

He's not hard at all when Bitty gets down, pushes his knee aside, and cups him through his jeans, but he jerks in surprise, then remembers to act cool and catches himself, nose crinkling. "Damn Bits," he says, in an impressed tone that is more insult that anything, like he'd thought Bitty wouldn't even know how to locate his cock.

"If this is all it takes to shock you, honey--" Bitty starts, only to have Parse's expression fill up with smart comments. He gives Parse a squeeze before he can voice any of them, and gets a hiss and one heel thumping against the floor in reward. 

"Hey," Parse complains, nose crinkling up even more, in a lopsided way that makes one of his eyes go a little scrunchy with it. Bitty squeezes again before he can try to retaliate, and doesn't let up until Parse gives in with a tight but ornery, "Geez, fuck. Ow. _Fine_. God. Twist my nuts off why don't you?" He stays still while Bitty gets him out of his pants, though. Eyes huge as he watches Bitty drag his zipper down, fold his fly open, then pull his cock and balls out over the waistband of his underwear. "Fuck," he repeats, breathy now, as Bitty pauses to decide how to get his mouth on Parse without having to touch too much of the dusty floor.

"Get up," he says, and gives Parse a couple seconds to do it, catching him by the pocket of his jeans as soon as he's rolled up to his knees. "That's far enough." 

Parse doesn't answer, absently dusting his palms off on his thighs while he adjusts for balance and waits for what Bitty's going to do. When it takes a minute, he asks, "Are you waiting for a kiss or something?"

"Shut up." It takes a bit of scooting on his own knees and some experimental hand placement before Bitty figures out how far back to move from Parse so he can sit on his heels and lean down and forward while Parse kneels up and braces his hands on Bitty's shoulders. It's awkward and a strain on his neck though, so after a few experimental angles, he decides to sacrifice Parse's clothes after all and pushes him down and onto his back, kneeling between his legs. It's a lot better looking down at him, Bitty decides, even if it means he's making more contact with the dirty floor than he'd wanted to.

Parse still isn't hard, but he firms up as Bitty wraps a hand around him and delivers little licks to the head of his cock as he strokes. His whispered, "Oh shit," is gratifying in a way Bitty hadn't fully expected, and the choked sound he makes when Bitty puts the head of his cock in his mouth and sucks once is even better.

He keeps stroking and licking until Parse's fingers end up in his hair, tugging at Bitty while he tosses his own head against the floor, and then Bitty takes him in one long stroke, pushing his mouth down as far as he can get without choking. He pauses as he pulls off, mouth wrapped around the end of Parse's cock to deliver another suck and then he releases with a pop, sits back, and says, "I think I've made my point," to a dazed and disheveled looking Kent Parson. 

Parse blinks at him, then slowly catches up and looks offended as all get out, which is Bitty's cue to smile at him, winning and angelic like accepting a Best Jam ribbon at the fair. "Your cock is hanging out, honey."

"Fuck," Parse says, but doesn't recombobulate himself. It seems to take him a few seconds to even try, clumsily trying to shove himself back into his pants while Bitty makes a show of finger-combing dust out of his hair, from when Parse had grabbed him. "You're just going to prove me wrong and quit, huh?"

Now it's Bitty's turn to give him a sidelong, indifferent look. "Now that you're wrong, you'll just have to die wrong, sweetie."

Parse flops back, unmindful of the dust, and says, "Killing me with blue balls is probably faster than--" and stops to look around, then finishes with, "starving? I guess?"

Probably that, Bitty thinks. Unless they're murdered outright. There's a sink and a toilet in the corner, so water won't likely be an issue. "You sure know how to keep a mood going," he says, instead of encouraging Parse's morbid imagination.

"I was under the impression you weren't going to keep going," Parse says, but has the decency to sound a little apologetic. Or he's just sorry he's ruined whatever chance to get off he thinks he might have still had.

"Yeah, well," Bitty says. "Some of us prefer to die with dignity, thank you very much." Unlike Parse, whose pants are still open even if he's shoved his junk back into his underwear, and whose clothes are grimy with dust and grit from the floor. He's got a smudge of it on his face too now, from rubbing a hand against his cheek while being a little sweat-damp from Bitty working him up. It's a shame that he's going to die such a mess, and that no one will know that Bitty had been the cause of the state he's in.

"That's not fair," Parse decides. "If you get to try something, I get to try something."

It's not the same. Bitty's not the one who'd been making comments about anyone's experience or ability. He points it out, saying, "Don't worry, I believe you've been around," but only gets a sulky pout in response. 

"That's not the same," Parse says. "Like, between you and me, it's not fair."

"Since when are you into _fair_?" Bitty demands, but isn't really sure what he means by that. If he's just echoing Tater's grumbling about plays or Jack's disgruntlement about half a dozen things Parse gets up to and-or had done.

"I'm always fair," Parse insists, probably as full of unthought-through bullshit as Bitty. Just saying shit to be obstinate. "At least I can take what I dish out."

"Oh, _please_."

Parse sits up, then tips over onto hands and knees and closes the distance Bitty had made in a crawl, too close to be worth getting up all the way. "Say 'please' again." It's a sly subject change, but he does look good like that, messy and with that crooked smile that he clearly thinks is charming instead of aggravating. It's his go-to selfie look, judging by how he has it pasted all over his Instagram.

"You're the one who wants something," Bitty points out.

That makes Parse sit up and back on his heels again. "Geez," he says. "I'm just trying to save us here."

"Well, who asked you to?"

"Fine," Parse grouches. "You want me to ask? I can ask." _Because I'm not a petty child_ , his tone says. Bitty doesn't respond, and surprisingly, that works. Sort of. 

"Bittle," Parse starts, mock-formal, "please get off your high-horse--"

Bitty rolls his eyes.

"and pretty please let me--" A pause. "Suck you?" His tone changes uncertainly. Parse is actually kind of cute like that, face screwed up in doubt, eyes questioning. More open than when he's remembering to look aloof and unaffected, even if Bitty's sure the slip is unintentional.

"That's not very imaginative," Bitty points out, covering himself, just in case the thought had shown on his face. "If you're just going to copy me."

"I was going to say something else," Parse admits, "but it didn't fit into my sentence." God, he's so hopeless. "D'you want me to start over?"

"Not if you're going to be sarcastic and rude about it. Then just never mind."

"Bits," Parse wheedles. Even his whining is kinda cute. It's more than a little annoying. Bitty sets his jaw, chin jutting stubbornly.

"Fine. If you're going to insist, you might as well go for it."

"If you wanted," Parse says, in a low, almost-but-not-quite seductive tone that might be intended snidely, but also might not be, "I'd let you fuck me."

"That makes it sound like _I_ want something."

Parse frowns. "Don't you?"

"What I think," Bitty says, "is that _you_ just want to get out of here alive."

"We'll fucking _excuse me_ ," Parse snaps. "Like you don't."

"Not like _that_."

Parse throws his arms out. "Like _what_?"

"Like--" Bitty nods at Parse, meaning all of him, the attitude, the _history_ , everything. "Like _that_."

Parse sputters, stumbling over his own indignation, and ends up repeating _what_ a bunch of times, with increasing levels of offended pique, then subsides into an intense sulk. Maybe genuinely hurt. It almost seems like it. Maybe he hadn't been kidding and Bitty's just rebuffed an honest to god offer--such as it was--to have his way with Kent Parson.

"Hon?" Bitty tries.

"Forget it. I've decided to die after all."

"Oh, you haven't. You're just bent out of shape because you didn't get off." He's still close enough that Bitty can slide a hand around the back of his neck, cradle his head, and pull him into a kiss, that Parse squeaks into before jumping back in surprise. "What? I can fuck you but I can't kiss you?"

"That's not the deal." For getting out of the basement alive. It's weirdly defensive for a guy who didn't have a problem saying, _pretty please I'll let you fuck me_ , even if he'd said it that way mostly as a dare.

"If that's how it is," Bitty huffs, and starts to let go and move back. Parse makes a weird crunched-up face, like he's thinking real hard and hurting himself doing it.

"Fine," he decides at last, relaxing enough that just his nose is crinkled with reluctance. "You can kiss me."

"Well, don't do me any favors," Bitty snips, but Parse leans in before he can go on and kisses him square on the mouth, a comical smooch that turns more intimate as soon as Bitty starts to return it, then gets downright hot when Parse makes a helpless noise in his throat and leans in, hands on Bitty's hips and then under his shirt. Parse's palms are rough, either from hockey or dirt from the floor, or both. Because his pants are still unbuttoned, it only takes Bitty a couple seconds to pull his cock back out, palming it roughly and starting to jack Parse off again, even though his hand is too dry for it and it makes Parse wince and make protesting noises into his mouth.

Parse doesn't get hard as fast in his hand as he had in Bitty's mouth, but he gets there, and gets his pants off when Bitty tugs at them, squirming and wiggling out of them in a way that should be more goofy than hot, except that he's in such a hurry to do it and so unwilling to break out of the kiss that he'd argued against to begin with that he comes off desperate. It's an honest to god turn on to have put anyone in such a state. Bitty can't really deny the fact, and it's not like Parse is hard on the eyes at all as he shifts his stance wider to let Bitty get a hand past his balls to brush a finger over his hole.

They don't have lube. Whoever'd decided to lock them up and make them fuck could have been at least that considerate, but it's not impossible to work around, given spit, the precome beading at the tip of Parse's cock, and enough time. Parse's hands are filthy, so Bitty leaves them where they are and shoves his own fingers into Parse's mouth right alongside his tongue, before he pulls back to tells Parse he needs them wet.

He doesn't end up having to say anything. Parse is already on it, sucking and wrapping his tongue around them, and making wet noises. Bitty absently remembers the sink and wonders if his hands were clean enough, but he's been a lot more careful than Parse about what he touched, so it must be fine. It's too late now, anyway.

It takes a while and a bit more maneuvering to get Parse ready for him, and by then Bitty's seated on his butt on the floor, with his back against the floral wallpaper and Parse straddling his lap, even more smudged than before because Bitty had gotten him down with his cheek on the floor and his ass up to be fingered open.

"I think I've done enough work," Bitty decides, before Parse can say anything. "You're the one who wanted it."

"Fuck," Parse says, and probably means to follow it up with something smart aleck, except that he's panting for it and not really fooling anyone anymore. "Fuck, okay. I'm just gonna--" His hand is around Bitty's cock, and for a second he looks like he might decide to suck it, but then he shuffles, gets a forearm against the wall for balance, and slides himself down onto it.

He's tight, and hot, and he lets out a long moan as he sinks into Bitty's lap, and then he stays there breathing in hard gasps, his chest in front of Bitty's face, which is too much temptation for Bitty to not shove his shirt up and tweak a nipple. 

Parse makes a sharp, surprised sound, but his hips rock back, trying to get Bitty deeper, which is an interesting combination of responses, so Bitty does it again to the other nipple, and this time gets a low, muffled moan. Parse has his face shoved into his own arm, trying not to make noise.

"You okay, hon?" Bitty asks, partly to make sure, partly to torture Parse by making him talk when he clearly doesn't trust himself not to make undignified sounds.

"Mm."

"Are you gonna move?" He thumbs Parse's left nipple, rolling it, then pressing down on it, then doing both at once, fascinated by the way Parse leans in and then away, like he can't decide if he likes it or not. Or he's just bracing for Bitty to pinch it again. He's fun to tease. Maybe enough so that it's worth not dying for pride's sake after all.

"Need a sec." Parse sounds rough. Bitty's not that large, but without real lube and with makeshift preparation, he probably feels bigger. The thought makes Bitty grin and he rocks up gently into Parse, making him hiss and his eyes widen. They're picking up more color from the wallpaper now that he's closer to it, turning a warmer brown. They might look gold if the light in the room wasn't so dim and Parse's face wasn't tilted into shadow.

"Okay?"

Parse licks his lip. Nods. "Yeah. That's fine. You can do that. Just--"

Bitty does it before he finishes talking, just because it's hard to hold still, then makes shushing noises when Parse grunts, in case Parse thinks he's doing it to be mean. "You feel so good," he says, lifting his hips again even though he'd told Parse to do all the work.

"Yeah," Parse says, breathy, just being agreeable. "Yeah." His cheek is against Bitty's head now, and he's finally starting to move himself, rocking his hips tentatively until he finds Bitty's rhythm and loosens up a little more, and then he picks up the pace until he's riding Bitty's lap, the sound of him falling back softened by Bitty's clothes and drowned out by both their voices--Parse making punchy little panting, moaning noises, and Bitty half babbling, littering his sentence with groans when Parse changes pace.

Bitty comes first, grabbing Parse to hold him in his lap and pushing up into him while Parse leans against the wall over his head and swears breathlessly, so close to coming himself that he clenches at the sensation of Bitty coming in him, hard enough that it makes Bitty whine, then rock into him as he rides through the shift of orgasm becoming pleasant aftershock, becoming too much. He pushes Parse off him before Parse can decide to keep going, and gets a complaining, "Hey," even as Parse lets himself be spread out on his back and lets Bitty get his fingers inside him again, three all at once now that Parse is stretched and wet. 

He's not really thinking about giving their captor a show, but it crosses his mind anyway, how Parse looks, sprawled and messed up and leaking over his own stomach. If there's a camera, Bitty wonders where it is, and what it's getting, exactly. He doesn't think Parse is thinking about it anymore, though, because he slides a hand around his own cock without a sign of self-consciousness, and starts stroking himself off, pulling his hand up when Bitty pushes in, trying to match his pace. 

He comes apart when Bitty waits until Parse's hand is on the down stroke, as far towards the base of his cock as Parse's stroking brings it, then leans over and sucks Parse into his mouth.

Parse rolls his hips, grinding back against Bitty's fingers, then jerks up into his mouth, then does both again, in a stuttered, confused motion, like he's caught between sensations, and then he spills into Bitty's mouth with a little cry that's just as confused, like Bitty's taken him by surprise and he didn't have his breath ready to shout for real. His back arches against the floor, shoulders braced to try to leverage his hips against Bitty's mouth, and then he sort of squirms and pants while Bitty shoves his fingers against his prostate until he goes limp. If that's not enough fucking to earn their freedom, Bitty's not sure what would be.

"I better--" Parse croaks when he's done, arm flung over his eyes, then swallows a couple of times, goes silent, then tries again. "This better not end up on your website." 

Bitty gets up to rinse his mouth in the sink, then corrects, "Vlog."

"Whatever."

Parse is still lying there by the time Bitty finishes straightening himself up, and the room stays closed and silent except for their breathing. "So, fine. I was wrong," Parse says, eventually, like it's a stray thought. He peeks out from under his arm, then lets it flop back over his face. "About--you know. Good game, Bittle."

Considering how Parse looks, sweaty and fucked out, Bitty can afford to be magnanimous. "Of course you were," he says, airy. "Why would you be _right_?"

Parse huffs. "Because you're with Jack." Bitty opens his mouth to demand an explanation or defend Jack's prowess, or something, but Parse goes right on into, "And isn't he your first? And Jack doesn't really want things once he knows he can have them."

Bitty's not sure what to say to that, and shuts his mouth to frown, but before he can open it again, the light goes out, and he sucks in a surprised breath instead as everything goes inky dark. Even a good distance apart, he can feel Parse freeze, and hear him hold his breath while he processes their sudden lack of vision. At least, Bitty thinks, this has saved him from himself and the sudden pang of sympathy he has for Parse. 

He's sure the lights won't come back on their own, so Bitty lowers himself to the floor to sit while he waits for his eyes to adjust. There's no window in the room to let any light in at all, so they don't, but before he can start to panic, there's the sound of a lock turning, and then, before either he or Parse can stumble their way towards it and find the doorknob, there's the sound of another door opening and closing farther away and somewhere above.

"I think this proves my point," Parse says, into the darkness, picking up some earlier part of their argument that Bitty's lost the thread on. 

He scoffs anyway and lets his head thump back against the wall, giving it another minute before he starts feeling his way over to test the door. "Which point was that, hon?"

Parse is quiet. "You can thank me later," he allows, after a few seconds, still from the same place Bitty had left him. Bitty rolls his eyes and starts getting up.

"Maybe _you_ should thank _me_ , Mr. Parson."

"You're welcome," Parse says instead, and lets Bitty do all the work finding the door.


End file.
